


Solo Necesito Mi Familia

by SpraceJunkie



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Jack is a foster kid, M/M, Modern AU, Spanish Speaking!Jack, cause the focus is Jack and how he defines his family, foster mom! medda, ft:, latino!Jack, oops i'm used to tumblr, pretty much "angsty boy" is the exact right way to describe Jack Kelly, that probably should have gone in the description rather than the tags, the evolution of Jack's definition of the word family, the main focus isn't the romance? but Jackcrutchie is the endgame even though it isn't the focus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpraceJunkie/pseuds/SpraceJunkie
Summary: Family has always been important to Jack, but what exactly he means by family has changed a lot over the years.ORThe evolution of Jack Kelly's family.





	1. Family is by Blood

**Author's Note:**

> It was gonna be one chapter  
> It really was  
> And then  
> I got carried away  
> So now it need to be posted over several chapters  
> In order to make sense  
> And that is why  
> I'm adding another WIP  
> I'm sorry

“No necesitamos nada más que nuestra familia, mijo.” Jack’s mother would whisper as she brushed away his tears, washing his face and hugging him. “We’ll be fine, Jeje, Papa is just having a bad day.” And Jack believed her, leaning into her hug and trusting that everything would be okay.  
  
“Pero mamá, necesito que te quedes.” This time, Jack’s mother didn't hold him close and wipe away his tears, she shook her head sadly and continued to fold her clothes into a small bag.  
“Necesito ir, mijo, I can't stay any more.”  
“But you said family was all we need. Mamá, por favor, don't leave. Or let me come.”  
“You have to stay, Jeje, your father will take care of you.” And that was all Jack got from her as he watched her leave, crying almost silently.  
  
“Jack Kelly, you're safe with us. Relax.”  
“¡No, necesito mi papá, por favor, no me hagas dejo!” Jack looked frantically over his shoulder, searching for his father. “¡Papá, ayúdame, por favor!” His father was mostly obscured by people, police officers, and who had a hand on his shoulder was gently pushing him towards a car.  
“We’re here to help you, Jack, you’re safe now.” She was saying, as soothingly as she could.  
“I don't need help, solo necesito mi familia.”  
“You’re safe now.” Jack set his jaw and stared out the window as the car started to drive away, meeting his father’s eyes and ignoring both the woman’s speech and the tears streaming steadily out of his eyes.  
  
“This is where you’ll be staying for a while, Jack. Please, give them a chance.” The woman, who Jack now knew as his case worker Felicity, smiled, forced and tired. The house they were parked in front of was the same as all the others on the street. It was gray, new looking but simple, and the people standing outside were exactly the same as every other family Jack had been placed with in the two years since he’d been taken away from his father.  
Smiling woman, smiling man, two kids, tan and happy looking. Waiting to welcome Jack, who didn't want to be welcomed.  
“Jack, hi! I’m Anne and this is Henry and our other kids, Alyssa and Marcus!” Jack looked down sullenly and mumbled out a hello.  
“He tends to shut himself off around people. He needs people to talk to him.” Felicity said, forcing another smile and tapping Jack’s back to make him look up.  
“No, necesito estar solo.” Jack muttered.  
“What was that, sweetheart?”  
“I’m not your son and I need to be left alone.” Jack said slightly louder, still refusing to look up at his new caretakers.  
“He always takes a while to settle in; he didn't come from a great home.” Jack inhaled sharply. Yes, his father hadn't be an amazing father, in fact there were plenty of time when Jack had wished for a different family, but he still believed what his mother had told him. _Solo necesito mi familia. _Jack was loyal to his family, even if he wasn't with them anymore.__  
His new foster family’s smiles grew more uncertain as Jack looked back down at the ground, refusing to acknowledge them.  
“Well, come inside, Jack. We’ll get you settled.”  
  
“Jack Kelly, you're getting to your last straw.” Even from the backseat, Jack could see Felicity's knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. “This isn't going to work anymore, Jack, you can't keep getting yourself moved just because you don't want to stay. These families want to care for you, let them!”  
“They don't care about me. They care about looking like good people.” Jack smiled in the way he knew irritated Felicity, the way that told her he knew exactly what he was doing. That he was purposefully making her job harder.  
And he did know what he was doing. His greatest talent had become moving homes as often as possible.  
The trick was figuring out exactly what each foster home hated. The Carter family, for example, had hated when Jack spoke Spanish or with an accent. So Jack had made a point of mixing his Spanish and English, making his accent as heavy as possible, and saying things in Spanish whenever he didn't want them to understand him.  
The Quinns hated it when Jack drew, so he really had them to thank for his abilities developing. Although in retrospect, developing them on the walls of his temporary bedroom may have been taking things too far, the the reactions has been worth it.  
The Reids didn't like Jack not being super religious, so he’d made a point of questioning everything and letting the devotional they'd given him gather dust.  
Plus there was the fact that the universal recipe for getting moved was stealing and fights.  
Jack had perfected the art of being disliked. Find their pet peeves, and do something illegal. If that didn't work, run away. And that was how he was on his something teenth home in four years.  
“These are good people, Jack, let them take care of you.” Felicity’s constant refrain sounded as hollow as it always did.  
“I don't want somebody to take care of me unless it’s my family.”  
“You weren't safe in your family, Jack, your father was not a good person.”  
“Don't talk about him like that. He’s my dad.” Jack stared blankly out the window.  
“He hurt you, Jack, and your mother. He hurt a lot of people.”  
“He took care of me! Sólo quiero a mi familia, no a ninguna de estas personas.”  
“You know I don't speak Spanish, Jack.”  
“Maybe you should learn, if you care about me so much.” Jack stopped talking and listening, preferring to look out the window in silence for the rest of the ride.


	2. Family is...Confusing?

Jack may have perfected the art of getting moved from home to home, but a group home was entirely different. Rather that being in a house or apartment with a single family, there were several “house parents” and pretty much one of them was awake at all times. They were trained to deal with kids with behavioral issues, and so they weren't affected by Jack’s fighting, acting out, or anything he did. He was in the home for almost three months when Felicity finally arrived, sighing and looking more tired than Jack had ever seen her.  
“This is really your last chance, Jack Kelly. I won't be able to do anything more for you after this. A fire, Jack, a fire! This goes beyond everything else you’ve done.”  
“It was an accident!” And for once, it had been. No matter how much Jack hated being in a group home, he would never try to hurt another kid there. Not seriously, anyway. He hit a few of them, sure, but burn them? All he’d wanted to do to draw, and he’d fallen asleep. It had been an accident.  
“Of course it was.”  
“I knocked over a candle and a paper caught on fire! I wasn't trying to burn the place down! I wouldn't do that, Felicity! ¡No soy un asesino!”   
“I still don't speak Spanish.”  
“Debieras. Tal vez olvidaré mi inglés sólo para ti.”  
“Jack. Please. Cooperate with me here. This home is going to be your last chance before you end up in a detention center. You're lucky you didn't get charged with arson, Jack, you're twelve now, you can be held responsible for things!”  
“It was an accident, Felicity, not arson. And anywhere is better than a place full of people who don't actually care about me.” And with that Jack turned to his routine of completely ignoring Felicity, this time looking down to his sketchbook and the faces taking shape, his mother holding a smaller version of himself, words winding through the background. _Nuestra familia es todo lo que necesitamos, nada más. _  
The car finally slowed to a stop outside a huge building.  
“Otra casa del grupo. Hurra.”  
“If you just said that this is another group home, you're wrong. You are going to be living with Miss Medda. She owns this theatre, and you are going respect her. This is your last stop, Jack.” Jack snorted.  
“You say that every time.”  
“This is different, Jack, this really is your last chance. Please, just cooperate.”   
Felicity led Jack through the dark backstage, through a door and into a more brightly lit living room behind the actual theatre.  
“Hi, Felicity!” A woman greeted her warmly, shaking her hand before turning to Jack. Jack tightened his grip on his sketchbook, ready to reject a handshake or a hug, but the lady never offered. She just smiled gently and gestured to his bag. “Jack, why don’t you pick a room while I talk to Felicity, okay? Any of the ones upstairs behind me are good, any marked with a number go into the theatre.” Jack nodded, not making eye contact as he picked up his bag and headed back.  
The hallway was dim, but not dark, and the stairs seemed to continue up for a while. Jack walked up as far as he could, not even quite sure if it was out of a desire to make his new foster mom work harder to get to his room or out of genuine curiosity. He’d never been in a house as big as the theatre other than the group home, and that didn't quite count.  
At the very end of the staircase there were two doors, one with a number, 29, and one without.   
Out of pure petulance, Jack tried the knob on the numbered door. To his surprise it opened. To his even greater surprise, it opened onto a catwalk, high above the stage of the theatre. He could barely see the stage, curtain open, as it was only lit with a small blue light, but the catwalk itself had a few lights on. The huge room was quiet, and Jack just stood there for a moment, looking at almost nothing.  
When he heard Felicity’s voice getting louder, he quietly closed the numbered door and opened the one across the narrow space at the top of the stairs.  
It was an attic, empty, dusty, but otherwise clean. Another door, probably to a closet of some kind, was in the part of the wall that stuck out in between the windows. There was a bedframe tucked into one of the alcoves created by the closet, with no mattress. The room was big and warm, and Jack instantly pictured paintings on the walls, drawings tacked up, a desk in the other alcove, a perfect room for making his art.  
“This room? Jack, you should-” Felicity startled him.  
“I want this one.” Jack stuck out his chin. “I like this one.”  
“You’re going to make Miss Medda work to-”  
“It’s no trouble, Felicity, really. There’s a room just down the stairs with a mattress, and Jack’s a big boy. I’m sure he could push it up if he wants to sleep here.”  
“I can move a mattress.” Felicity looked like she wanted to protest again, but Miss Medda put a hand on her shoulder.  
“Really, I did say he could pick any room without a number. And this is a good room, anyhow. Nice view of the storms and sunrises and sets.” Miss Medda smiled at Jack. “Everything is settled, Felicity, this will work. Jack and I will be just fine, won't we, Jack?” Jack looked back down at the ground. “Good.”  
It took a while before Felicity left, with several conversations about rules, and many warnings about what would happen if Jack got into trouble again. But finally she did, and Miss Medda showed Jack what mattress he could pull up to his new room, and soon he was sitting on a bed, drawing.   
While almost every other page of his sketchbook, almost full, had pictures of his family, or people he knew, or landscapes, he watched the room around him take shape, the walls and windows and exact slope of the ceiling, and the bed, and then added in how he pictured it.  
Vague pictures on the wall, a bookshelf against the far wall, a desk in the other alcove. An easel in the corner, he let himself hope, a dropcloth tacked up behind it and covering the floor, paint cans next to it. On the desk, he added a jar of pencils and one of brushes, a sketchbook much nicer than the one he had, a tiny blob he knew was supposed to be a nice eraser. When he was done, he added a small caption.  
“Impossibilidades,” _Impossibilities _.____  
He knew he would likely not get any of the things he drew, that he probably wouldn't even finish out the summer with Miss Medda, but at least could draw them.  
“Jack? What're you doing?”  
“Nothing.” Another bonus of the bed being where it was was the fact that if he sat with his back against the closet wall, he couldn't be seen from the door. By the time Miss Medda had fully entered the room, Jack’s sketchbook was closed and beside him, and he was looking out the window.  
“What’s that?”  
“Mine.” Jack answered simply.  
“May I see?”  
“No.” Jack got ready to snatch it up if she reached for it, but she didn't move.  
“Okay. I’m going shopping and I’d like it if you would come with me.”  
“Why?”  
“Well for one, I don't know you very well yet and there’s a lot of stuff in this old building that I don’t want to get broken. Felicity seems convinced that you’ll break things, but I’m not really getting that impression. Also, you're only twelve, so I shouldn't leave you home alone for as long as shopping takes me. And, I can't exactly get you what you need or want if you're not with me.” Miss Medda smiled. “Like I said, I don't know you well. You’ll have to pick out what we get you, or else you might not like it.”  
“Clothes?”   
“If you need some, sure.” Jack tucked the sketchbook under his pillow and followed Miss Medda downstairs.

_______“No stealing, and nothing too expensive, but other than that, I’ll be waiting here.” Miss Medda said, pulling a book out of her purse and sitting down on a bench outside the changing rooms. “It’s a department store, follow the signs and you’ll be able to find whatever you want.” Jack’s eyes widened as he looked around the store, then back to Miss Medda._  
“Anything? Anything I want?”  
“Anything that won’t make me have to declare bankruptcy that’s legal, go for it, Jack.” With that, Jack walked away before she could take it back.  
First he picked out a few clothing items, a few flannels and t-shirts and a pair of jeans.  
And then he made his way to what he really wanted.  
The art aisle.  
None of his other foster homes had taken him to a store and told him that he could get whatever he wanted. Usually it was more along the lines of, “We have this much money, so get some clothes.” So Jack hadn't spent much time around art supplies, in real life anyway. Online, he’d seen beautiful sketchbooks and nice brushes and paints and watched videos about how to become a better artist, and had seen how to tell the difference between drawing paper and normal paper, and how to add texture to drawings and depth to paintings, and even though he had only ever done pencil sketches since he only had his pencil and sketchbook, he had wanted to do so much more.  
“Wow.” The art aisle had rows of sketchbooks, some decorated for small kids and some just plain colors. Good erasers, nice pencils, loose drawing paper, all stacked neatly on the bottom shelf. Paints and canvasses were opposite the drawing supplies, and at the end of the aisle there were easels and dropcloths.  
Jack contained himself to a brand new, nice sketchbook and a set of pencils with a nice eraser, and one pack of loose paper and some paints and brushes. And, for good measure, he picked up a hat on the way out.   
Miss Medda was reading on the bench when Jack came back, shyly holding out his basket full of things.  
“More art supplies than clothes. You sure you have enough?”  
“I have clothes. I wanted art stuff. You said-”  
“I’m not saying you can't have the art supplies, I’m just making sure you have enough clothes, too.”  
“I do.”  
“Okay, then. You’re ready?”  
“Yeah.” Jack was quiet until they got to the car. “Thank you, Miss Medda.” 

_______“Jack, you know you can't just get away with that.”  
“I did.” Jack stuck out his chin defiantly.   
“I caught you, and you are going to return these things, and apologize, and if you're lucky that will be the end of it.” Miss Medda pointed to the little heap of objects on the kitchen table. “You could get moved for stuff like this, Jack, and you know as well as I do that I’m your last stop. You don't have much leash left to pull at.”  
“I am not a dog!” Jack said sharply.   
“You're right. I’m sorry. What I meant was that you don't have a lot of room for mistakes. You need to control yourself, or Felicity will have to move you.”  
“Maybe I want to move.” Jack rethought the words as soon as they left his mouth. Miss Medda looked hurt for a split second before regaining her composure.  
“Do you?” Jack didn't know how to respond. To admit he didn't would be admitting defeat, which wasn't something he liked doing. But he also did want to stay, and he didn't like the look that had crossed Miss Medda’s face when she processed what he’d said. “I’m sure we...we could arrange for that. I’d like you to stay, Jack, I really would. But I won't be able to do anything if you get taken away for more theft and fights and god knows what else. You have to try to stop acting out like this, Jack.” Jack still stayed silent. “Now, I want you to put all of this in a bag and walk back to the store it came from. Apologize, and tell them you’ll pay if you need to. We’ll work out your punishment from me later.”   
“Punishment?” Jack thoughts raced to his father’s punishments, going hungry for a day or a few slaps across the face, and to the punishments he’d received from other foster families, from being grounded to having his sketchbook taken away.   
“You don't just get to get away with things like this, Jack. You broke the law, and the trust I had in you to not do things like this anymore. There has to be some kind of consequence.” Miss Medda handed Jack a bag and watched as he filled it. “Come back as soon as you're done, please.”  
“Yes ma’am.” Jack muttered, walking out the door sullenly. In a little over an hour, he was back, glaring at the floor.  
“What did the store say?”  
“They took your money and told me I wasn't allowed back in without you and told me I was lucky they didn't call the police and said the only reason they didn't was because they respect you.”  
“You are lucky.”  
“Yes, Miss Medda.”  
“Please go to your room. I’ll call you for dinner.”  
“I’m grounded?”  
“I haven't decided yet.” Jack looked at the floor again and slowly walked upstairs. Somehow, Miss Medda’s quiet disappointment made him feel more guilty than anybody’s anger ever had. He _liked _Miss Medda, he wanted her to like him, and he didn't like that he had hurt her in any way.___  
“Jack, dinner!” Miss Medda called. “I’ve decided what your punishment is going to be.” She said as soon as he was sitting down. “You’ve heard the rehearsals happening during the day, right?”  
“Yeah.”  
“On Saturday, there isn’t a rehearsal, but people are working on set. That’s usually what Saturdays are, during the summer. But most of the cast won't be there, so there’s only a couple people helping. You’re going to help with the set, whether that means painting, or building, doing whatever Mr. and Mrs. Dillon need you to do. For the next month, okay?”  
“You making help with art? For a punishment?” Jack had never been more surprised.  
“It’s not art in the same way you do it. You’ll need to listen to everything you’re told.”  
“Okay.” Jack agreed before she took anything back, happy to have a punishment that at least wasn't horrible.  
“And you aren't allowed to go to any stores without me until you earn back my trust. Yes?”  
“Okay.” 

___________“Carolyn? Jack is here to help you.” Miss Medda smiled warmly at the woman standing on the stage._  
Her hair was tucked into a bandana, with only a few strands escaping. She was covered in paint, streaks and blotches all over her jeans and t-shirt.   
“Hi Jack! I’m Mrs. Dillon. Medda says you like to paint?”  
“I guess.”  
“That’s good, ‘cause we have a lot of painting to do!” She paused, looking at him thoughtfully. “You probably want old clothes and maybe a hat or something, so you don’t ruin those clothes or get paint in your hair.” Jack looked at Miss Medda.  
“Any clothes you don’t care about, Jack.”  
“I don't make a mess when I paint.”  
“Trust me, Jack, messes are made when painting set. There’s no way around it when you're painting up, down, and sideways.”  
“Go get changed, Jack, then come back down.” Miss Medda sat down on the stage and started talking to Mrs. Dillon while Jack ran to get changed, and was still there when he got back, chattering about the show.  
“Oh, you're back! Good! There’s a bucket of green paint over there, see?” Mrs. Dillon pointed to the back corner of the stage. “And brushes are in this box, pick any one that isn’t completely caked in dry paint, and you’re gonna paint that door and that chair, for now. Okay?”  
“Um, sure.” Jack pulled a brush out of the box and found the green paint.   
It seemed like painting the door to Mrs.Dillon’s satisfaction took forever. First he was painting too thick, so there were drips and clumps, so he had to smooth them out, and then he had to add a second and third coat in between painting the huge chair. A few other people were floating in and out, some painting other things and some building larger set pieces.  
“So, you’d be Jack, right?” Jack turned from the door to see a girl about his age watching him paint. Her hair was curly but cut short, so it hung just above her ears, and she was smiling. “I’m Madelyn, and I’m one of the munchkins!”  
“Munchkins?” Jack was more than slightly confused at that statement.  
“You know, the munchkins? This is the Wizard of Oz? And I’m a munchkin? A tiny person? Follow the yellow brick road? No?”  
“No.”  
“Oh, well we should watch the Wizard of Oz together sometime. Then it’s easier to understand. Or even better, you should come watch the show!” Madelyn kept chattering, pausing every once in a while to let Jack respond, eventually picking up a brush and helping out with the door. Eventually she wandered away, after Jack had finished the door and the chair and was looking around for something else to do.  
“You finished, Jack?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Then you're done for the day, unless you want to stay.”  
“No thanks.” Mrs. Dillon took the brush from his hand.  
“Okay. See you next week.”  
“Yeah.” 

___________The next week, Madelyn was there again.  
And the next, and the next, and even though Jack didn't technically _have _to go back a fifth week, he did, and she was there again.___  
She was funny, and seemed to enjoy talking at Jack, without expecting much of a response from him, which was nice. He preferred to focus on his painting.  
Mrs. Dillon let him work his way up, too, so his fifth week he was painting things something other than solid green, and the other adults were talking to him a little bit.  
He liked the atmosphere of the theatre, quiet but busy, and the way he was left alone to paint even when people were all around him building and painting other set pieces. It was nice.  
“I guess you like teching, huh?” Miss Medda asked, sitting down across from Jack at the kitchen table. “Mrs. Dillon told me you came and helped out again today, even though your month is up.”  
“I was bored.”  
“I got my start in theatre teching too, you know. And the next thing you know I was acting, and here I am.” Miss Medda smiled. “There’s nothing quite like theatre, Jack. You could always ask if they need help during the show. You could go to a few rehearsals, see what they need.”  
“I just like to paint.”  
“I know. I saw your room.” Jack winced slightly and looked down at the table.  
“I spilled.”  
“I noticed. I’ll get some turpentine when we go out later. And you need to get some school stuff, too.”  
“School?”  
“You didn't think you’d get to have vacation forever, did you? School starts week after next, we have a meeting with the guidance counselors next Tuesday.”  
“We both do?”  
“You have to pick some classes, and we have to talk about school in general.”  
“You mean my behavior.”  
“That will be part of it, but not all of it. Also your teachers, what classes you've taken in other schools-”  
“I’ve never finished a school year in one school.”  
“Which is why we need to have this meeting. Hopefully this will be your first, right?” Miss Medda smiled again, while Jack just looked down. “You’re doing well, Jack. You fixed your own mistake, and you haven't acted out again since. It’s already been three months.”  
“I never make it much longer than this.” Jack stood up, planning on going up to his room, not wanting to have the conversation about moving. He didn't expect Miss Medda to stand as well and wrap him in a big hug.  
“You’ve never tried. You can do it, Jack, you are doing it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't exactly know what to title this but I guess Confusion works. Jack isn't quite sure what his family is any more, and that's confusing to him. This one is much longer than the first chapter, too, but I'm not sure if that will be normal or not.


	3. Family is Mine

Jack hated suits. They were always either too tight in the shoulders or too loose, the pants somehow always managed to be too short, he had to wear dress shoes that pinched his toes, and every time he’d ever had to wear one had been an unpleasant experience.  
Funerals for people he didn’t even know, long, boring church services he didn’t care about, meeting “relatives” he knew he wouldn’t ever see again. For his first six years in foster care, suits had meant things he didn’t want to do.  
Now, almost eleven years after entering the system, he finally had a good reason to wear a suit.  
Not that he didn't still hate it. This particular suit seemed like it was trying to pull his shoulders forward, and the pants were too short and showed his socks, and the shoes were giving him a blister.  
Also, he was standing in front of the courtroom in 95 degree heat, tugging his tie to loosen it until Medda tugged it back into place, giving him a look before they walked inside.  
Time was being weird, which wasn’t all that unusual for Jack. When things were happening, either good or bad, his ADHD made time go by so quickly he couldn’t keep track.  
Walking through took a few seconds, and then the start of the ceremony took forever. Jack forced himself to focus when his mom was talking, answering questions, and eventually saying her own bit.  
“Jack is my son. He has been my son since the first time he walked into my house, our house, whether he knew it or not. This, today, this just makes it legal. It’s just words on paper, and that’s nowhere near as important as the fact that he calls me ‘mom.’” Jack smiled so hard his face started to hurt almost as much as his feet. And then suddenly Jack was the one standing up and answering questions.  
Did he want to be adopted?  
Yes.  
Did he understand that it would be forever?  
Yes.  
Did he have anything else he wanted to say?  
Jack looked at Medda, his mom, and smiled. He was close to crying, it had been so long since he’d started hoping that his place with her would be forever and so long since they’d started trying to make Jack her son, and Jack had thought of so much to say. But really, now that he had the chance, he really only needed to say one thing.  
“Mama, solo necesito mi famila. You’re mine.” Medda’s smile grew, and so did Jack’s, even as he had to wipe a tear away.  
Then time was weird again and the judge was signing papers and Medda was hugging Jack tightly and Jack was hugging her back and everything was overwhelming but in the best way possible.  
“4117 days in foster care and now I have a family again.” Jack whispered. Medda squeezed him tighter.  
“I love you, Jack.” Jack just nodded this time, not quite able to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Um. It's been a while. I think there's gonna be three more chapters? It could honestly be two or four, but I think three.  
> Anyway, as always, please leave kudos if you like it! Also, comments! A single word, an emoji, an essay complete with citations, all of the above, nothing makes me happier!   
> Also always feel free to yell at me (or with me) on Tumblr @gay-newsboys !


End file.
